


Old Habits Die Hard

by OllyJay



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, MFMM Year of Tropes, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 03:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10958616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllyJay/pseuds/OllyJay
Summary: In just five days the delight of their reunion crumbles... because some behaviours are so ingrained you keep repeating the same mistakes over and over again.





	1. Prologue - Last Night

The faint click of the latch broke the early morning silence as the hotel door closed. Slipping off her shoes, she hesitated at the bedroom door not wanting to wake him.

She needn't have bothered. The bed was empty. Again. 

For the second night in a row she had beaten him back. A glance at the clock, five o'clock in the morning. She had stayed out ridiculously late to make a point. A wry laugh – clearly the lesson was hers, _'what’s good for the goose is good for the gander'_. 

She removed the evening's finery before climbing into bed, thankful for the slight alcoholic haze that, almost, stopped her wondering where he might be. Almost.


	2. Five Days Earlier...

"Jack, I'll go stir crazy if we don't go out tonight."

"We’re supposed to meet Byers at eight tomorrow," he reminded her. 

She sighed. They had been reviewing a long standing cold case for the local police, one with uncanny similarities to a murder they had solved back in Melbourne. But she was tired of meticulously re-reading old paperwork… and tired of doing the right thing… and tired of… She stopped - it wasn’t true, one look at him and the last thing on her mind was that she was tired of him. No. All she needed was a break. A chance to kick back and have some fun – after all this was New York. She raised her hand to trace her fingers along his cheekbone. "And we will," she promised, "it'll only be for a few hours, just to blow the cobwebs out.” Though he looked unconvinced he began to change into his evening attire. She gave a secret smile at her success.

After the third club he gave up all pretence of interest.

And so Phryne accepted the proffered hand of a dashing young man wandering by, letting him lead her to the dance floor. As she kicked and spun, reveling in the energy of her enthusiastic partner, she saw Jack draw further and further into the shadows. He made no attempt to hide his boredom, yawning repeatedly and at one stage she was convinced he was asleep. After the third consecutive dance she made the excuse of needing a drink to leave the floor. 

"Jack!" He actually jumped when she called his name.

"Sorry," he did his best to stifle another yawn, "but now you've found a like-minded companion," he tilted his head at the man queued at the busy bar, "would you mind if I headed back to the hotel?"

Looking at the obviously exhausted man beside her she was just about to say they'd go together when the young man appeared at her shoulder, drinks in hand.

She took a sip of the drink she had just been given. It would be rude to leave now, the night was still young and she did deserve a break. A full band was on the stage, the singers were spectacular and beautiful people glittered under the bright lights as they danced to the latest tunes. All around others sat elegantly on chairs, leaned nonchalantly on tables or draped outrageously across one or more of their companions. This was the New York club scene at its best – and who knew when she would be here again.

“Of course not,” she said. 

And so he left. 

She danced again but her heart wasn't in it. When she gave her apologies, her companion insisted on escorting her home. She agreed but after one drink at the hotel bar she made her farewells, politely but firmly. He bid her good night, mentioning he would be at the same club the following night. She smiled but had no intention of seeing him again. She had begun to wonder if Jack had misunderstood the situation. Had he thought he was a third wheel, choosing to withdraw so she could get on with ravishing another man more to her liking? That line of thought made her frantic to get back to their room. 

When she slipped under the covers beside him, he immediately gathered her into his arms, snuggling in before falling back to sleep.


	3. Four Days Earlier...

When she awoke around ten o'clock she found a note on his pillow. He had gone down to the police station but would be back with lunch just after twelve. Wondering if his failure to wake her was retaliation for her staying out till the early hours of this morning, she carefully analysed each word of the note, its meaning, the way it was written, how it interacted with words around it, trying desperately to understand from this simple slip of paper the complexities of the man. Unsurprisingly it revealed nothing other than, if she wanted to see him, he'd be back around twelve. In the end she chose to dress, settle in an armchair with a book and await his return.

At twelve on the dot Phryne's head shot up as the door opened. Jack was balancing food, a bag full of case notes and the room key in an uncoordinated manner that emphasised exactly how tired he was. He dropped his key on the whatnot, the bag of case notes on the settee and placed the food on the table. Then he bent down to kiss her on the cheek before taking off his coat and hat. He started to unpack the food, "Have you been out?"

Phryne turned to watch him, "No, I only got up a couple of hours ago."

He nodded, "Lucky you. I guess it was a good night, given I couldn’t rouse you this morning?"

She shrugged, “Alistair and I danced for a while longer, he escorted me back and we shared a drink at the bar downstairs.” She watched his reaction carefully – or rather lack of.

He began to unwrap the sandwiches, "These were recommended by Byers, one turkey, the other beef, any preference?"

"Turkey for me," she replied forcing gaiety into her voice and joining him at the table. "I'm sorry I missed the meeting this morning, how did it go?"

"Food first, Miss Fisher, then I'll bring you up to speed on our latest case." He bit into his sandwich with relish, finishing in what must surely have been record time before looking with interest at the barely touched sandwich on her plate. He grinned when she pushed it towards him. When he had consumed that too he sat back and looked at her. "I feel rather decadent asking this, but would you mind if I went to sleep for a couple of hours?"

"Not at all, would you like company?" she offered.

He chuckled, "It wasn't a euphemism. I am heading back to the station this evening though, and I wouldn't say ‘no’ to your company then."

Every cell in her body said ‘tell him to go get some rest, tell him you'll be here when he wakes up, tell him you’ll go to the station with him this evening’, instead she heard herself say, "Oh I can't. I've arranged to meet Alistair at the club this evening. There’s a band from New Orleans playing and…" She let the sentence drift away because she couldn’t actually remember any details of the band.

He nodded, “Makes sense. I doubt they’ll be in Melbourne any time soon.” He stood up stretching, "Well, if you’ve gone before I wake - have an enjoyable evening." And he walked into the bedroom.

She sat there. On her own. Miserable. 

Until he had made his quip about actually wanting to sleep she had had no intention of ever seeing Alistair again. Now apparently she was meeting him for a second ‘date’. She didn’t quite understand how that had happened. After thirty minutes of pondering and getting exactly nowhere she got up and went to lie down beside an already sleeping Jack. 

Hours later she awoke to find him staring at her. As she blinked sleepily, he reached across to stroke the side of her face. "Hello sleepyhead,' he whispered.

"I missed this, this morning," she replied her voice low too, "I enjoy waking up beside you."

He gave her one of his shy smiles, "It's my favourite time of the day."

"I'm sorry about last night, I should have just come home with you."

"You don't need to be sorry. You like to dance, I don't. It doesn't worry me."

"You're not upset with me?"

"Of course not," he assured her, "now tell me - how long have I got before Alistair whisks you away?"

"You can have me all night, if you want."

He pulled her on top of him, "I think all night may be a bit ambitious, but if I drop you at the club at ten o'clock on my way to the station will that work?" He ran his hands down her back.

"And what are your plans for tonight, Inspector?"

"A quick debrief at the station then back here for hot milk and another pile of case notes. But that’s later," he tugged at the silk robe she had on, "this is now."

She made love to him then with a hunger that shocked her. His barest touch seemingly enough to send her tumbling over the edge and it was only pure exhaustion that finally quenched her need for him. As her eyes closed she wondered how she would cope if he should ever decide to leave her.


	4. Three Days Earlier...

"Good time?" his voice was heavy with sleep.

"Yes," she lied. Alistair had introduced her to his friends and spent all evening attentively by her side. Old Phryne, the one who had never been intimate with Jack, that Phryne would have adored him - for a couple of days at least.

"Come here," he mumbled, dragging her into his arms before returning to his slumber.

She lay awake, worrying. Is this what it would be like back in Melbourne? Him working all day, her dancing all night and never the twain shall meet? She was struck with a longing to speak to Mac, to talk through things and understand her options. And how did he feel about it all? That was the biggest mystery to her. He seemed to accept her absence easily, as though it mattered little to him. He had said he would never ask her to change but if she didn’t… And what if she wanted something more for them and he didn't... Christ, did they even have enough in common to be in a relationship? Come to that, what did she know of relationships anyway? The only thing she knew was she wanted him, desperately, and this knowledge made her uneasy. 

Confused and unsure she reverted to what she understood; the simple pleasures to be found in alcohol, dancing and uncomplicated company.

And that night she went dancing with Alistair and his friends, again.


	5. Two Days Earlier...

She heard the door open. "Is that you, Jack?" she called from in front of the mirror.

"Yes."

She waited for him to come into the bedroom. And waited. And waited.

When she came out, ready to catch a cab to the restaurant where she was meeting Alistair and his friends, she found him sitting at the table. He had removed his jacket, unbuttoned his waist coat, loosened his tie, rolled up his sleeves and ruffled his hair free of its pomade. Her breath caught, he looked vulnerable and undone and she had never wanted him more.

Glancing up from the case notes spread across the table in front of him, he took a sip of his whiskey and raised his glass to her in salute. "Have fun," he said before looking back down at the paper in his hand.

It was a dismissal and it stung. On autopilot she smiled and said, "Thank you, I will."

As she walked out she chose to ignore the fact she was blinking furiously.


	6. Yesterday...

Yet another night of dancing with Alistair and his friends but this time she came home to find the hotel room empty.

At first she assumed he was on the case but as she readied herself for bed she noticed his evening clothes were missing. He was out then? She knew it wasn't that late because - tired of the pretence that she was having a good time with Alistair and his friends - she had purposely come home early to be with him. Had he finally got bored of nights spent alone in the hotel room? Had he gone out to find alternative… entertainment? She flicked back the curtain to stare out at the dimly lit streets. He was out there, somewhere, without her.

They had barely spoken for two days. Turns out it is surprisingly hard to hold a conversation with someone who was hardly ever in the same room as you. After that first invitation to visit the station he had not mentioned the case again. Then, just as she had been on her way out, he had arrived back at the hotel - eyes sparkling and an excited smile on his face. She had hesitated, sure he was about to say something, to ask her to stay but in the end he had merely nodded so she walked past him to the door. It was only later at the club that she had thought about the bag he had been holding. The bag she had just found crumpled in the rubbish bin... that contained a receipt for champagne. Something important had occurred in his life, something he had wanted to celebrate with her… and was perhaps now celebrating with someone else.

She let her forehead rest against the cold glass of the window. It was falling to pieces, this precious thing that she had wanted for so long, it was falling to pieces around her and she didn't know how to stop it.

She was still awake when he came in but closed her eyes and slowed her breathing so he wouldn’t know. She could tell by the way he moved that he hadn't been drinking and that was an agony in itself. What did a man do till three o'clock in the morning, if he wasn't drinking?

She was strangely relieved when he didn’t take her in his arms.

Even then she didn’t want to breathe too deeply - in case she should smell another woman on him.


	7. This Morning...

And then finally there was last night, the second night in a row that she had returned to an empty hotel room.

When she woke around eleven, the first thing she noticed was his side of the bed had not been slept in. She lay still for a while considering the various implications of this. None of them made her happy.

She finally dragged herself out of bed thinking a cup of tea would be a good start. As she walked out of the room she saw the blanket on the settee but her relief that he had in fact come home was balanced by the understanding that that was what they were now.

Separate. Apart. Not together.

She guessed he would be moving out today and, once his investigation with Byers was concluded - if it wasn’t already - heading back home to Melbourne.

Without her.

She let the thought sink in, not surprised by the tears falling down her face.

She found a note on the table. He’d be back around seven. Did he want to talk? Explore what had happened, how they got to this point? Or perhaps he just wanted her to know in order to save them both the embarrassment of an unwelcome encounter.

She made sure she was gone well before seven.


	8. Tonight.

She stood on the sidewalk considering the non-descript doorway he must have gone through. If it was a club it was unusual that there wasn't a bouncer on the door. Her eyes swept the vicinity; the wrong side of town, far from the slick new venues she had been frequenting with Alistair and his friends. This part of town had most definitely seen better days.

"You only had to ask."

She jumped as the well known voice came from the shadows to her left. She swore at her foolishness - of course he would know when he was being tailed. She hadn’t intended to follow him but… she found she's wasn't ready to let him go, not yet and so she had waited outside the hotel to see if there was anything left she could cling to.

"I would have told you if I'd known you were interested," he continued.

It was true, she knew it, but she had been scared. Scared because, although she had imagined every possible scenario, she still didn't know how to react to the answer he might give.

She realised he was holding his arm out to her, "Would you like to come in?"

His offer was so unexpected that she hesitated too long and he withdrew his arm. Turning he walked through the door, leaving her standing outside. On her own. At the last minute he stopped with his hand on the door frame, looking back at her with a yearning that startled her. Almost without realising she moved towards him.

Inside the club was dark.

This time when he held out his arm she grasped it quickly and he guided her to a table in a corner even darker than the others. Looking around she could see the majority of the light in the room came from candles flickering on the tables. No flame graced the table he had chosen.

Over his shoulder she could see the bar, dimly lit by heavily shaded bulbs. Surely not enough light for the bar tender to mix drinks she thought, and yet there he was, competently passing drinks out to the punters. She turned her head towards the stage. Unlike the clubs she had been frequenting with their big bands, constant movement and blazing lamps, this too was mostly in the shadows. A single spotlight shone down on a woman, her hands caressing the microphone stand as she sung. Her gravelly voice describing love won and lost. In the near darkness behind her, a man on a piano drew forth sounds so poignant tears prickled behind her eyes. She saw a flash of a solitary sequin on the dance floor, where the music flowed languidly around the slow moving bodies of those seeking, and offering, solace. There was no frantic movement, no flashing of too wide smiles or artfully arched eyebrows. Here bodies pressed tight against each other, slow and close with faces averted.

Her eyes beginning to adjust to the low light, she looked at occupants of the other tables. Scattered around were groups of men with glasses of hard liquor in front of them, cigars glowing, eyes fixed on the singer. Instead of conversing with each other, they nodded their heads at the woman’s words as though she was speaking directly to them. Phryne glanced back at her, it was not beyond belief that she was. On a table to their right, sat a dusky beauty and her beau. His arm around her shoulders, fingers stroking bare skin, eyes mesmerised by the movement of dark red lips. At the bar, a waitress twirled long dark hair round her finger as she gave her drinks order to the skillful bar tender. He flashed a stunning smile at her, letting his eyes linger as she walked away, never once slowing in the production of drinks and laughing good naturedly at the gentle teasing from the regulars.

Yes, she realised, flashes of hope existed even here but they were in constant danger of being overwhelmed by the brooding darkness. She turned to him then, to find his eyes regarding her intently as she had known they would be.

"Why are you here, Phryne," his voice was so low she could barely hear it.

"I'm not sure," she admitted.

There was a change in tempo as the singer started a smoky tale of love betrayed by lust.

"Is this where you were this morning?" she asked.

He looked at her, clearly confused. "No. We raided a boarding house to pick up our suspect. One of the lads at the station, his wife is just out of hospital with their first child. I volunteered to take his place. We couldn’t be sure that there wouldn’t be gunfire and his wife needed him whereas no one... " he didn't bother to finish.

She looked at him stunned. Last night, whilst she had been playing a childish game of 'who could stay out the latest' - his life had been in danger. It was the last straw, suddenly all her feelings came crowding in, forcing her to speak the truth she had discovered. "I need you." There it was, what was said could not be unsaid and this admission brought her more relief than she had thought possible.

He raised an eyebrow, obviously taken aback.

"I missed you." It was as if a floodgate had broken, "I missed you every hour of every day. More with every breath, every drink, every pointless conversation and every stupid dance," she finished vehemently.

"But I've been here Phryne, right here all the time. You just had to want me."

That he could ever think she didn't want him? That made her angry - all her misery, all of her fears, why did they exist if she didn't want him? She raised her head, eyes wide and blazing, "I want you, Jack. I don't want anyone else. I just want you.”

His eyes swept her face and she knew he was searching out all the tell tale signs that spoke of untruth. But there was nothing she needed to hide. He swallowed hard, "Thank God." He pulled her into arms, burying his face into her hair, "I was so sure it was over."

“I thought you were tired of me.”

He pulled back staring at her in disbelief, “Never.”

“You didn’t seem to care - that we weren’t spending time together.”

“I hated it,” he said, “At first I thought you just wanted a break from investigations but then... it felt like it was me you wanted shot of.”

“You never asked me to stay.”

“I wanted to Phryne, I did, but I've never been good at..." he shrugged, struggling to articulate his thoughts, "well, lets just say it appears that old habits die hard.”

“That's true but they can be broken, if you want them to be. When I thought we were finished I tried to go back, to who I was before. But…” she shook her head, “… I don’t want to.”

They sat there together for an age. Not speaking, not even thinking. Just together.

"How did you find this place?" she asked, finally breaking their silence.

"A couple of nights ago I had a break through in the case. A couple of lads decided to celebrate with a night on the town," he blinked slowly, "it wasn’t my first choice... anyway we ended up here. This woman was singing. Her..." he hesitated, "her songs seemed appropriate to how I was feeling tonight and the surroundings," a glance round at the gloom, "apt."

"I've spent my evenings dancing to the liveliest tunes under the brightest lights, and been miserable," she confessed. "I could get used to this place though, if you want me too.”

The waitress approached their table, a box of matches in her hands, "Here, let me light that fo’ you folks," she smiled, picking up a candle Phryne hadn't even seen. She winked at Jack, "Got no call to be sittin’ here in the dark."

Jack pulled Phryne back into his arms just as the song ended. “I don’t want you to be with me Phryne, I need you to be with me.”

"... for all you lovers," the singers voice was sultry and smooth, "keepin' the dream alive for the rest of us."

The club was suddenly still as though shocked by this strange sentiment.

Then a buzz filled the room. There was the shuffle of chairs as partners were sought and found. Those already on the floor met loving gazes with knowing smiles. A giggle escaped the dusky beauty as her man pulled her to her feet. The bar tender threw his apron at the closest waitress and grabbed his girl as she moved away from their table. He twirled her madly, and she laughed with delight as the open matchbox flew from her hand scattering its contents across the room.

Ending their embrace, he stood. "Miss Fisher?" his voice was low but certain as he held out his hand, “May I have this dance?”

"Jack," she replied as she stood, placing her hand in his, “always, you only have to ask.”

"I'll do my best to remember that, Miss Fisher," he promised.

And together they walked to the dance floor

**Author's Note:**

> With hugs and kisses to solitary_cyclist who performed the important public service of attempting to restrain as many of my melodramatic flights of fancy as she could ❤️❤️❤️


End file.
